SHIELDED BY A HERO

  Personal Protector Series

  SJ Clarke & J.L. Madore

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Afterword

  About the Author

  About the Author

  Also by JL Madore

  Copyright © 2023 Dauntless Publishing Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

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  Note: The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Dauntless Publishing Inc — 1st ed.

  ISBN: 978-1-990853-66-1

  CHAPTER ONE

  Flames crept through the living room window of the old Victorian duplex, reached out and offered a hesitant caress, before embracing the blue brocade curtains with a whoosh of triumph. Lily woke at the sound, the flare of fire lighting the shadows beyond the curtains.

  A shadowed person passed by the pane before dissipating.

  An eerie calm enveloped her, even as an incessant beeping faded to the background. This is what her entire life had prepared her for. Is it any wonder she stood before another wall of flames, fifteen years from the night her father had died? Warnings couldn’t stop it from happening. Not then. Not today. Not in time to save what mattered.

  Doing what was right took courage, and she’d never possessed that gift.

  If this was some kind of karmic test, Lily could’ve spared them the trouble. She was beyond saving. She mourned the beautiful family home that would never be hers, the carefree life she’d never live and didn’t deserve, anyway.

  She might get a brief taste now and again, but happily ever afters didn’t happen for girls who killed their father.

  Lily turned her head toward Alana, passed out on the couch next to her. The one friend who’d stuck by her and never judged. Lily’s own mother couldn’t say the same.

  Her nemesis beckoned with curled fingers, tempted her to answer the call, twisted and gyrated in a mocking dance. Her fascination with fire began when her father died. Hell, before then, if she were being honest. Because what’s the point of lying to yourself when you’re staring death in the face? Today, death was looking for its pound of charred flesh.

  Lily pushed back the dark energy and even darker memories and struggled to remember what was at stake. Fate may have decreed today Lily’s day to die, but it wasn’t Alana’s.

  “Not this time, you bastard.” Ten seconds seemed like ten minutes.

  Time was running out.

  Lily hooked her elbow across her face and collapsed to her knees. She reached up and tugged on the bare foot dangling over the edge of the sofa. “Alana! Wake up. Fire!” Lily crawled a few inches forward, gripped Alana’s arm, and gave a violent shake. “Get up!”

  Alana moaned and rolled over. The abrupt drop from the cushions to the floor accomplished what Lily’s cries hadn’t. Her friend rose to all fours, coughing. Flames waved wildly from the upper half of the curtains as heavy rain pelted through the open window. “Oh, my god. My house. Fire!”

  Lily focused on the mostly soaked curtains. The rain may have slowed it down, but it didn’t halt the fire’s hunger. Her gaze shifted to the wallpaper she’d helped Alana put up a week ago, and then lifted to the restored ornate moldings.

  If the fire hit the walls, they’d be out of time within seconds.

  Wracking coughs bent Lily double. “Fire extinguisher.”

  “Kitchen,” Alana coughed.

  Lily stumbled to her feet, stayed low, and headed to her right. The extinguisher hung waist-high on the wall next to the fridge. Lily ripped it from the clamps, pulled the pin, and ran back into the living room. She aimed the nozzle at the base of the flames, now making a swift climb up the dry section of curtains.

  When she squeezed the handle, a thick yellow foam poured out. The table in front of the window had also started to burn, and she swung the extinguisher until the foam coated it as well.

  Someone banged on the door. “Hey, anyone home? Alana, you in there?” More banging, then the sound of the doorknob jiggling. “Alana, open up. It’s Gus from upstairs.”

  Sirens wailed at an almost deafening pitch. Headlights blazed, and emergency lights flashed through the windowpanes, layering blue and yellow bruises on charred walls. The wail of sirens accompanied the beeping smoke detector, adding its own macabre musical backdrop to the tragedy playing out around her.

  The fire laughed at her feeble attempts to douse it, dodged, and raced along the ceiling. Orange and blue danced across the walls, devouring everything in its path.

  Too fast. Too much.

  Who was she kidding? Lily dropped the empty canister. She turned to go and almost tripped over Alana, unconscious on the floor.

  Mac jumped down and got to work. His partner, Chuck, escorted a pajama-clad bystander and his cat off to paramedics, then ran back to join him. The crew tackled the flames on the east side of the Victorian. Rain-soaked or not, it was old.

  Old wood burned fast.

  “Homeowner?” Mac asked when Chuck caught up.

  Chuck shook his head and grimaced. “Upstairs tenant. Homeowner’s still inside. That’s her car parked out front. Lives alone.” He swiped the rain from his eyes and put on his headgear. “Let’s go get her.”

  Mac shouldered his way past the locked door and stepped aside to let the hose men through. The foyer had an open door to a set of stairs leading to the upstairs apartment. Quick negotiation with another locked door revealed a typical central plan. A hallway led through to the back with various doorways opening off it.

  Chuck hung a right into the dining room while Mac veered left into a parlor turned home-office.

  “This side’s clear,” Chuck reported. “On my way… kitchen.”

  Mac rapped the heel of his hand against his helmet. “You’re cutting out, Chuck. Come again.”

  “I’m clear. Continuing on.”

  Mac responded in kind and went through the opening to the adjoining room. He almost tripped over the woman. Bent low, she dragged something across the floor. The rolled edge of an area rug slowed her progress. “Got her, Chuck. Conscious.”

  Mac heard a crash of breaking glass. “God damn… motherfu…”

  “You’re cutting out. You good?” Mac asked.

  “Affirmative. Damned skylight of the addition collapsed. Almost done here. Meet you at the door in two.”

  Mac turned back to the woman and grabbed her shoulders to pull her up, but she shrugged him off. When he reached for her again, she pulled away, yelling something at him before doubling over in a coughing fit.

  “Ma’am, we need to get out of here.” With a shake of her head, she dropped to her knees. Damn it. Not another one. It always surprised Mac when he came across reluctant rescues.

  Sometimes it was as simple as smoke-laced confusion.

  Most of the time, the vic was saving a damn family heirloom or a box of photos. He understood the panic, but their efforts only increased the danger to his team. He’d seen too many smoke-eaters go down over some idiot’s attachment to Grandma’s mahogany end table.

  Some—like his father—never got up again.

  “Look, lady, I’m here to help you. Whatever it is—it’s not worth it.” He reached to pull her up and grunted when she kicked out at him. “That’s it, no more nice guy,” Mac muttered. “You’re going whether you want to or not.”

  Lily felt him before she saw him. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and a fog that had nothing to do with the smoke clouded her vision for several seconds.

  “Having woman tr
oubles again, son?” The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jawline. What was left of the hair on his head was more salt than pepper, and his deep brown eyes sparkled with wisdom and experience. He stood next to the firefighter, trying to get her to leave without Alana. His thick gray mustache twitched as he fought a smile.

  Distracted as she was, the pushy firefighter in question took the opportunity to bend and heft Lily over his shoulder.

  “Let me go!” From her upside-down vantage point, Lily kicked… and by the way he flinched, she connected. Even in bare feet, a kick to the groin hurt. Lily arched her back and craned her neck until she could see the older firefighter a few feet away.

  “My friend,” she choked out before a coughing fit overtook her.

  Something was wrong. He began to fade… “Wait, no. Please… my friend.”

  A faint body outline remained until even that disappeared into the haze. The figure seemed to take a step toward her. “Mac!”

  Mac paused, shifted the weight of the woman slung over his shoulder and looked back the way he’d come. The woman was pointing to the bunched-up rug on the floor with an urgency that he didn’t understand. She was fading… the smoke was draining her.

  Mac focused on the spot where she pointed… the rolled-up carpet… “Shit. Looks like she had company,” he said into his mic. “Chuck, get in here.”

  Seconds later, Chuck came in and Mac gestured to the floor. When his partner had unrolled the carpet and found the second woman, Mac turned toward the door. “Engine 29 to command. We’re heading out, two in tow. Have the medics ready.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Flames raced up the side of the house, their bright orange tongues reaching out to lick the sky. The crew chief shouted orders, his voice commanding and sure. Linemen moved with practiced precision as they hooked up the hoses. Curious onlookers spilled out of neighboring houses and watched the display with equal parts relief and morbid fascination.

  In the beginning, fire was a curiosity for him—now it was his passion… or obsession.

  The air was thick with the smell of smoke, wet ash, and charred embers. The roar of the flames echoed through the streets, chased by the hiss of water from the hoses. It all melded into a chorus of chaos punctuated with the blare of sirens as the paramedics arrived.

  Not much changed from one scene to the next—except for the faces of the people hastily robed and standing on the front lawns. Those in the closest houses shot nervous glances at the chief. A few raised their hands, snagging his attention.

  Caution and respect for the job kept most of them at bay.

  One woman marched parallel to the line hose in the crew chief’s direction, oblivious. The hose jerked as it filled before going taut, leaving the once determined woman sputtering on her ass in the grass. She winced and gripped her ankle. He shook his head as emergency personnel made their way to help her.

  Idiots like her kept the flame eaters from the real reason they were here.

  He frowned and looked back at the house. First responders went in several minutes ago. Long enough to find the two women on the main floor. His hands fisted in his jacket pockets as he rocked on his feet.

  Time dragged. He watched for any movement from within the burning structure. A sigh blew out when the two firefighters finally came through the front door.

  Each had a woman over his shoulder.

  And so it begins.

  Once the crew chief gave the all-clear signal that the structure was empty, his attention shifted back to the lookie-loos. Had any of them spotted the culprit?

  Movement in the shadows drew his gaze to the other side of the yard. He squinted to make out a lanky silhouette through the smoke. Hairs rose on the back of his neck.

  When the man shifted, the strobe lights of a police cruiser lit up, revealing the stranger’s gaunt face and beady eyes in a red and blue haze. With a wide smile that pulled his lips back in a sinister grin, the interloper tipped an imaginary hat, then backed into the veil of shadows.

  “Damn man, you’ve got balls.” He cut behind the house, hopped the fence and hit the street through the next yard. Ribbons of smoke curled around cars and houses, but there was no sign of life.

  There were others, like him, who skulked in the shadow of fire.

  He smiled. “Run while you can, but I’ll find you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lily sat in the back of the ambulance. Open doors provided a front-row seat to the show going on before her. Smoke continued to billow from Alana’s home, which, from her viewpoint, was beyond saving. The firefighters had turned their attention to the neighboring homes—evacuating the people and pets next to be impacted.

  Good call. As she watched, flames leaped from one rooftop to another in the close-set community. This scene was as bad as it gets… Almost.

  At least they’d made it out alive.

  Lily turned her head and swiped her knuckles across the tears on her cheek. A couple of hours is all it took to pick up a person’s entire world, shake it like a damn snow globe, and plunk it down again.

  Yes, everything settles back into place, given time, but never in quite the same way.

  She pushed the oxygen mask up to her forehead, the elastic strap helping to hold her brown hair off her face. “Alana’s beautiful Victorian. She worked so hard renovating it. How will I tell her it’s gone?” She barely recognized the raw croak as her own voice. She winced and pressed her hand to her throat.

  The paramedic tending to Lily looked up from her paperwork, and with a frown, replaced the mask over Lily’s mouth. “Don’t you worry about that, hon. The police will take care of breaking the news. The Fire Investigator will want to speak to her as well. As soon as she’s able to answer questions, of course. That’s him there, next to Engine 29, talking to the firefighter who brought you out.”

  Both men wore full gear, minus the helmets, but only one showed signs of recent exposure to smoke and fire. He looked different from what she remembered. Without the helmet and mask, he looked less the monster she’d practically attacked.

  His hair was black with sweat, but judging from his eyebrows, she’d guess it was dark brown. And he was huge. Taller than the man he was with, and wider, but in a muscular way. He carried people out of burning buildings. Strength was a job requirement.

  She owed him a thank you… likely an apology, too.

  “Investigator?” Lily asked, lifting the mask again as the paramedic’s words set in. She took a long pull of water from the bottle the medic had given her and swiped the drips from her chin with the back of her wrist. “It was an accident.” Lily shook her head at the memory of tonight’s little pity party.

  A single tear slid down Alana’s cheek as she frowned into her empty wineglass.

  Lily had pulled a folded tissue from her pocket and handed it to her best friend. “Men are pigs.” All right, pig might be harsh for the banker—at least he wasn’t married. Unlike the shoe salesman before him, which Alana readily admitted to suspecting after their first date.

  “But the discount on shoes was so worth it,” Alana had argued, a mere three weeks ago during an almost identical replay of tonight’s break-up party.

  The shrill cry of a smoke detector interrupted their giggles.

  “The pasta!” Alana jumped up and ran to the kitchen, waving her arms at the smoke seeping from the oven vents. She opened the door and then jumped back as a fresh cloud billowed out. “Dammit, that was my last tray of mama’s rigatoni.”

  When the smoke cleared, Lily bent to peer into the oven. “I don’t see any flames. I think we can salvage it.” Lily opened the kitchen window while Alana retrieved the pan. Shriveled tubes with crunchy looking black halos at either end sat on the rubbery smear of sauce. “Or maybe not.” She laughed at Alana’s pout.